“More like ‘smelled a turd,’ General, but thanks. How’s Saaran? He never came back. We have to come up with a portable wireless we can use on the march! It would still be line o’ sight, but we wouldn’t have to send runners up and down the line!”
“Yes. I see no practical way to use wire as we did at Raan-goon! They say we will have better baater-ees and wireless sets soon.” She blinked a shrug. “Saaran is lightly injured, but fine. He tried to return, but tumbled from the back of a paalka!”
Billy laughed, then sobered. “I lost a lot of good guys today.”
“As did we all.”
Bekiaa-Sab-At finally gave the belated order for the nearest artillery to cease firing, and its example was soon followed by the other batteries up and down the line. She stepped wearily up beside Flynn and also exchanged salutes with Safir Maraan. Bekiaa looked terrible-again-and this time she had a Grik crossbow bolt buried between the twinbones of her left forearm. She’d refused to leave the front. “Shall we chase ’em?” she asked.
“No,” Safir said reluctantly. “They outnumber us still. I estimate now that we engaged upward of forty thousand today. Even if we’ve killed half the vermin, they could still overwhelm us in the open, in the dark, and we suffered sorely as well. No, we will consolidate the line and stand down those who were most heavily engaged. I’ve already sent cavalry to scout the high flanks, but I do think it’s over. Here.” She looked at Billy. “Tend to this stubborn Maa-reen female.. . and your Flynn’s Raangers! We will need you all again!”
“We’ve got the city, Admiral,” Alden said when Keje-Fris-Ar entered his tent, now erected inside the original Grik defenses.
Keje was in his martial best: his new white Navy tunic and blue Marine-style kilt. The polished, chased, copper scale armor he’d always worn battle was fastened over the tunic, though, and he still wore his old helmet. He also had standard-issue leggings and a web belt with a 1911 Colt holstered on one side and his old “skota” or “working sword” hanging from the other. He looked like a short, armored Navy bear.
“Splendid news, Generaal Aalden,” Keje replied. “When I got word that you desired the fleet to shift our fire to the north, I suspected as much and promptly came ashore! I hope I do not intrude.”
“Of course not!” Pete grinned. “This is a big deal, sir. The first time we’ve ever kicked the bastards out of one of their own provincial capitals! At least, Rolak’s pet Grik claims that’s what Colombo is. The little creep even acts excited for us, if you believe that!”
“I cannot fathom the Grik mind, Generaal. Even Lawrence has… exceedingly odd notions, and he is not Grik. Perhaps Hij Geerki is sincere, but I could not care less. Your victory here today, and Queen Protector Safir Maraan’s victory in the highlands are the greatest acts of the age! They will be recorded in the very scrolls!”
“Those scrolls of yours are going to get mighty long if we keep adding to them at this rate,” Pete said less enthusiastically. “We need to keep a history of this war, damn straight, but your ‘scrolls’ are sacred-and these battles today were an unholy mess. You know the details of the battle in the mountains?” Keje nodded. “Yeah, well, that was a real fight,” Pete continued. “This here was mostly just butchery once we broke through the first couple of countercharges. Rolak was right. General Grik filled his ranks with civilians; fishermen, artisans, builders, farmers-most were a buncha fogies by Grik standards. More head crests, like officers have, than we’ve ever seen before. A few females too, apparently, though you can hardly tell by lookin’ at ’em. Fatter, no crest, that sort of thing. Same teeth and claws.”
“Have any been found like Lawrence’s ‘Great Mother’?”
“No. Thousands of eggs left in joints like chicken coops, probably laid by the regular Grik broads hereabouts, but no big mama.” He looked away a moment. “I ordered all the eggs smashed. The few prisoners we took so far didn’t give a shit. You know? That part still gives me the heebie-jeebies. Wild Griklets runnin’ loose all through the woods, and nobody gives a damn about the eggs. Hell. According to Geeky, they used to eat the little buggers when they hatched. He doesn’t know why they’re takin’ over the jungle.”
“But you did secure prisoners? Any of account?”
“How should I know? Word is-again through Geeky-that the city manager, or whatever the hell he is, hauled his ass outta here with the ‘special warriors,’ whatever the hell that means. No word on General Grik, the guy in overall command. Maybe he knocked himself off like all the rest we’ve come across. Hope so. He’s no Napoleon, but he was startin’ to bark up some of the right trees.”
“Naa-po-leon?”
“Skip it.”
“What is the situation now?”
“Pretty much unchanged from my last wireless report. Victory in the mountains, but those forces didn’t come back here as I’d hoped. We were waiting if they did. General Maraan says they disengaged and retreated in an orderly fashion! Must’ve headed north.”
“I would wager that is where your ‘General Grik’ was.”
Pete sighed. “Probably o. His stunt almost worked, you know? I can hope his bones are smashed under one of the goofy buildings they build around here, that First Fleet knocked flat. At least for a while.” He held up his hand. “I ain’t going to count on it, just hope it!” He grinned.
“You are pleased with the fleet’s gunnery?”
“Oh, you bet. Naval Air did a great job too. Whatever they used to knock those planes down this morning wasn’t here. They must’ve cobbled’em together in a hurry and taken them all. Bet we see ’em again, though, so the Airedales need to watch out. Anyway, like I said, the city’s knocked flat. Grik don’t go in much for fancy digs. Mostly adobe, either kind of sensible multistory, rectangular structures, or like… I don’t know, domes, I guess. Not much reinforcing. There’re a couple of exceptions, big buildings made of stone. You clobbered a couple; the forts overlooking the harbor, but there are more that didn’t take such a beating. Look like temples or something.” Pete shook his head. “I have some squads going through those, rooting out some really wild lizards, but maybe we’ll find something useful. I’ll send another squad with Geeky once the holdouts are hacked out. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to the little shit; he’s the only interpreter to the other Grik we caught.”
“Yes, and not only those, but the ones being held in Baalkpan all this time! How many did you take alive?” Keje asked.
“Altogether?” Pete’s expression turned to stone. “You know, I gave strict orders that nobody risk his life to take prisoners. Most think that seeing a Grik is too risky to let it live, and you know, I’m fine with that after the hell we’ve had trying to take ’em in the past. Some of the Ma-nilos and Sularans actually went out of their way to capture a few in ‘fancy dress,’ like I sorta asked.” He took a breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll never do that again.” He looked at Keje. “They captured nine, all civvies, who might’ve been willing to fold anyway, like Geeky, but the warriors defended ’em or killed ’em themselves. I’m pretty sure they killed more Grik here today than we did! As soon as it went in the pot, it was as if they had orders to kill every one of their own people they could catch! It cost me almost thirty good troops to capture-hell, rescue -nine of those lizard bastards. Regardless of what we might learn from ’em, it ain’t worth it, and I’ll never ask it again! Kill ’em all; that’s what they’d do.”
Keje said nothing for a long moment. He knew Pete was angry; so was he. Nine out of a city of thousands! But he also knew the Marine would see reason… if they ever needed prisoners again. “So… how do you think we should proceed from here?” he asked.
“There’s still fighting in the northern part of the city, so I don’t know how much of the industrial works we’ll get-whatever it is-but there’re fires even farther north, farther than our deepest penetration, so it looks as though they’re wrecking what they can.”
“Hmm. Further evidence this ‘General Grik’ has es
caped, I fear,” Keje said.
“Well… yeah, maybe so.”
Keje looked out at the ruined city in the dark. Some parts burned brightly while others smoldered like coals in a fire. “We must pursue,” he said simply. “We have a chance to annihilate them in the northern plains before they cross the land bridge to Indiaa.”
“You got it, Admiral,” Alden said. “That’s what I was going to suggest. We needto finish rooting this dump out, but we can handle that and be back on the move in a few days. If you head north along the coast, bomb or shell anything you see, then park your ships to cover that low-tide causeway…”
“If the water is deep enough…”
“Well, sure. Anyway, we can sweep up behind you, guided by the ‘Nancys,’ and maybe we can catch ’em between us, out of hope, out of gas, out of supplies and artillery, and hopefully by then, out of their goddamn minds!”
CHAPTER 20
New Dublin
The battle for New Dublin raged furiously throughout the rest of the night as the Doms fell back toward the bastion in the northwest part of the city. Chack, Silva, and Lawrence rejoined the companies pushing north with Jindal, and after a brief meeting when Silva told them what they’d seen from the air-and Lawrence squirmed under the amazed scrutiny of strangers-the push resumed with a better idea of what they faced. More and more townsfolk, either honestly rising to aid in their liberation or cynically taking what appeared to be the winning side, swelled Chack’s and Jindal’s ranks to the point that they finally reestablished communications with Blair’s larger force on what had become the allied left. He’d known they were coming through the coastal suburbs and palatial estates of the elite by the numbers of Doms-and their sympathizers-streaming past his own right toward the bastion. When the flood became a trickle, he knew the linkup was at hand, and he and his staff met them as the moon began to fade in the brightening sky. The entire allied line was finally reestablished among the affluent-and far less congested-homes southeast of the bastion between the mountains and the glimmering, graying sea.
“We meet again, Mr. Silva!” Blair said, extending his hand.
“We do?” Dennis asked, clasping it, and shaking vigorously.
“Well… yes. I was but a lieutenant of Marines at the time, but we met at a quaint dining establishment in Baalkpan before I sailed with Commodore Jenks and the squadron bound for the west.”
“Zat so?”
“Perhaps you’ll remember later,” Blair said uncomfortably. He saluted Chack. “A most interesting night. I’m glad you’re well, sir. I apologize for the… disorganized nature of the assault.”
“I’m glad you made it, Mr. Blair. And as for the confusion”-Chack blinked-“my Marines have never fought a battle like this before either.”
“Yeah,” said Silva. “More like a drawn-out street brawl in Olongapo-with no SPs-than any battle I ever saw.”
“What’s the situation here?” Chack asked.
“The enemy has skirmishers in the dwellings ahead, but the greatest threat is that they’ve massed their artillery on this front of the bastion.”
“If we could flank the fort, they’d be at our mercy,” Chack observed.
“True, but we can’t move along the cliffs on this side of the mountains. The slopes are bare and within range of their guns. They would see the movement and merely shift their batteries accordingly. And even if we could embark enough troops on ships in all this chaos to get beyond the fort, we’d have to take them nearly to Bray-which is in enemy hands-before we reach a suitable place to land them.”
“Mortars?”
“Most of the crews brought their weapons up to the edge of the city, hoping to support our movements, but we had no contact with them through the night. They showed admirable initiative, and would have saved us if we’d been repelled,” he admitted, “but their utility now is questionable. They’re low on ammunition, and they haven’t the range of artillery. If we move them close enough to drop their bombs into the bastion, they’ll be slaughtered.”
“We can try to get air support,” Chack suggested.
“Uh, maybe,” said Silva. “Lieutenant Reddy, the pilot of the plane that brung me and Lawrence…” He saw Blair’s surprised expression. “Yeah, he’s the actual cousin of ‘Himself,’ if you can imagine.” He chuckled. “I guess it’s a small world, even when two of ’em get mashed together. Anyway, he’d know what we can get and how to do it, but I ain’t got a clue.”
“Semaphore back up the mountains and down to Waterford?” Jindal suggested.
“Maybe,” Silva allowed, “but everything at the lake looked like a mess to me-before we might’ve sorta made it a little worse,” he added cryptically. He saw the others stiffen. “Don’t worry, I reckon the Doms in the valley are the least o’ your concerns, and the garrison there should be safe enough, but things were already a goose pull at the command level even before…” He grinned. “I like that Lieutenant Reddy. He has a elegant approach to fightin’ I can appreciate!”
Chack’s tail swished with… nervous anticipation, but Silva didn’t elaborate.
“Anyway,” Dennis resumed, “we might get word to Sor-Lomaak, who can holler at Cap’n Lelaa, an’ maybe she can sort it out. But what about them flyin’ Grik? Is there more of ’em? Where’re they roostin’? Tough to bring more planes in when they might just get knocked down.”
“I can’t answer that,” Blair said. “We’ve taken few prisoners and none would speak. The loyalists we’ve asked never saw them before last night, so it’s doubtful they ‘roost’ in the city. Yet further proof this… treachery was planned and begun long before the attack on New Scotland! The question of where all these Doms and their support elements have been preparing still remains, however.”
“Oh.” Silva shrugged. “As for that, I got the word before we got tangled up with them Grik birds. Cap’n Lelaa sent a recon north, and several Dom ships was seen steamin’ toward here outta the west. She figgered they were troopships, from your folks’ description of their warships still bein’ under sail. She recalled them scouts to be armed an’ sent to sink ’em! What’s west o’ here where the Doms might stage up?”
“The India Isles?” Blair speculated. “A couple are substantial, but not particularly suited for habitation. They’re rarely visited.”
“Sounds ideal,” Silva agreed. “They use ’em for a stagin’ area for here. If there’s anything left on ’em after this fracas, just park a couple ships there an’ starve ’em out.”
“Indeed, that seems the most likely explanation,” Blair said, “and the best way to eliminate the problem… there. We still have our problem here, though.”
“Why not just starve these creeps out too?” Silva asked. “I mean, you said yourself we’ve about got the boogers bottled up in that fort. Leavehem to rot.”
Chack was surprised by the relatively passive suggestion, considering the source.
“No,” Blair said, determinedly. “They’ve invaded our country, and we’re only beginning to learn the extent of the atrocities they committed here in the name of their sick Church! They’ve ‘sacrificed’ hundreds of people, mostly women, and not even most were indentures! Most were daughters of citizens! We must destroy them root and branch so any here that sympathize with them will learn the cost of treason!”
“I agree,” Jindal growled with no less intensity.
“I as well,” said Chack, less eagerly but with equal determination. “We have a much wider war to consider. Our forces cannot be tied here waiting for the enemy to starve.” He looked at Silva. “I’ve faced these ‘people’ before, and they fight with near the same determination and fanaticism as Grik. Unlike Grik, however, their fanaticism is based on thought and teaching, not instinctual rote. They do as their priests demand of them believing it is right! As long as they hide behind those walls, we must keep sufficient forces here to protect against an attack from within, and they are smart enough to plan an attack to coincide with our moment of least preparedness. T
hey might inflict heavy casualties before they’re stopped, and may even raze the city completely. Worse, they won’t care if all die in the attempt, because the leaders of their faith assure them they’ll be gathered into paradise at the very instant of death!”
“So these ‘padres’ o’ theirs are like Hij gen’rals, er somethin? What’s the top dog look like?”
“Like those that attacked Scapa Flow, a ‘Blood Cardinal’ is present, and would be their overall commander,” Blair said. “His vestments resemble their flag: a red cloak with a barbarously shaped gold cross embroidered upon it. Their headgear is ostentatious, but its shape is different from one to the next. The descriptions I’ve heard of the one here makes it sadly clear it’s not that damned ‘Don Hernan,’ who orchestrated the plot on New Scotland. He must have fled east, back to their lands after all.”
“What would happen if he got bumped off?” Silva asked casually.
Jindal snorted. “Who knows? He’d never expose himself to harm, I’m sure, but ‘Blood Cardinals’ are reputedly immune to ‘earthly injuries’! That’s one reason we’ll hang the bastard for all to see when we catch him. That might go a long way toward undermining the foundations of their perverted teachings!”
“Don’t they ever just, you know, croak?”
Blair snorted this time. “Oh no. To attain ‘godliness’-and I do mean they’re semideified!-Blood Cardinals must mutilate themselves to death! For your average Dom, it’s enough that they ‘die in pain at the hands of another’ to enter paradise!”
“Do they really do it?” Chack asked, amazed. He knew more than Silva, but hadn’t known that.
“Their ‘popes’ sometimes do, when they’re old and sick. I’m sure they’re drugged silly at the time. Usually, those like the chap here, or Don Hernan, are simply laid out for viewing after they’ve suddenly been ‘called to the heavenly embrace.’ I suspect they’re mutilated after a natural death.”
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